


Teo Torriate

by stew (julie)



Category: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-07-16
Updated: 1988-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Big Norse is stricken with grief - and fury - when she hears that Rawhide has been killed.
Relationships: Big Norse/Rawhide (Buckaroo Banzai)
Kudos: 1





	Teo Torriate

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** For anyone who hasn’t had a chance to read the novel, I offer the following quotes from it which describe the main character in this story. She’s “a young Blue Blaze from Denmark who through no fault of her own had somehow gained the mismatched moniker Big Norse”. She has a “tip-tilted nose and golden hair”, a “sturdy bearing, unselfconscious and dignified” and … “Rawhide’s enthusiasm for Big Norse being common knowledge” that’s good enough for me! (Though frankly who cares if she’s “big” or not…? I’m sure our awesome Rawhide would have been happily enthusiastic regardless.) 
> 
> The title is borrowed from Queen’s song “Teo Torriate (Let Us Cling Together)”. 
> 
> **First published:** in my zine “Samurai Errant: Cavalier Tales Quixotic and Profane” #1 on 16 July 1988

# Teo Torriate 

♦

“This is Big Norse, Blue Blaze Irregular 23, intern at the Banzai Institute, calling on behalf of Buckaroo Banzai,” I announced over the top of Mozart’s Symphony No. 25. “Request urgent communication with John Emdall on the Planet 10 father ship, on a matter of the utmost concern to both our worlds.” 

The violins sawed busily down over my words. If the Mozart didn’t move them to urgency, I was at a loss to think of my next move. 

I’d said to Buckaroo I might even try singing a song to rouse their curiosity, but if they heard me sing, maybe they’d simply blow up Planet Earth in despair and have done with us. 

Monitoring the Go-Phones’ frequencies with one ear, I heard Reno and John Parker conversing more easily in Spanish, so I repeated my request in that language, and kept talking. 

I told them all about the Banzai Institute and its aims. About how it was the only place that I’d found friendship and understanding in all my life. And I told them that if there was one reason for saving this funny mixed-up world of ours, it was for the Institute. I lapsed into the native tongue of my birthplace Denmark, then repeated in Spanish – “This is Big Norse calling on behalf of Buckaroo Banzai, requesting urgent communication with…” 

But I faltered as I heard Buckaroo’s voice over the Go-Phones on all frequencies. Buckaroo, ever cool, calm and collected under pressure, now sounded hurt and angry. “Everybody report to the bus _immediately_. We’re going to Yoyodyne.” 

There was static as a number of people called in, and then Buckaroo’s voice again in answer to someone. “They’ve killed Sam, McIlvaine and Rawhide, and kidnapped Penny.” 

Killed Rawhide. They’ve killed Rawhide. For a long moment I sat there, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, the words echoing emptily in my head. Rawhide’s _dead?_ I tried to picture that large lovely man lying inanimate and lifeless somewhere, and couldn’t. Who on earth, _how_ on earth could that warmth, that caring be extinguished? “They’ve killed my friend!” I yelled to the father ship along with the Mozart, in emotional Spanish. “They’ve killed my friend!” 

Buckaroo was saying over the Go-Phones, “Penny had the OVERTHRUSTER in her bag.” And, in a fuddled sort of way, I knew that meant we were all in grave peril. 

Maybe it was my outburst, or maybe they were also monitoring the Go-Phones and had heard Buckaroo’s words, but I picked up a slow, thick voice speaking in Spanish from the Planet 10 ship. “This is John Penworthy, Commander of the Fleet, calling Big Norse, Blue Blaze Irregular 23…” 

I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat, acknowledged the signal, and by that time Buckaroo and all the residents and interns had collected on the bus, and we were moving. The residents clustered around me, Reno and Perfect Tommy arguing to Buckaroo about our next move. Despite my friends surrounding me, for the first time since I’d arrived at the Institute I felt hopeless and alone. 

For a horrible moment, I felt like giving up, sitting back and letting the Adders destroy us as seemed likely now, so I would be free to find Rawhide again. But then, how would I ever look him in the eye, when I had not been as brave and strong as he must have been as he confronted certain death? 

I set my face grimly. There was work to be done. There were messages coming in from the Planet 10 ship, and Buckaroo wanting to speak to John Emdall personally. I set my face grimly and _worked_. Rawhide’s death would not be in vain. 

♦

I spent the night in cold, unfeeling fury. Like an automaton, I left my communications equipment to Scooter Lindley, and joined Mrs Johnson’s strike team in the raid on Yoyodyne. Patiently we waited in the darkness, then it was our turn to move. I killed three Lectroids, scarcely aware of how or why, feeding on my controlled fury like a killing machine with an electrical power pack. The others were sometimes clumsy, but every shot of mine found its mark. There was Rawhide in my mind’s eye, grinning in the spring sunshine, after hitting a home-run on every ball he faced in one of our social games of baseball – “I had my eye in,” he says modestly.

“We must be as tigers to lap blood,” Buckaroo had said. I snarled low in my throat as I downed another Lectroid, surprising Mrs Johnson beside me entirely. 

♦

At dawn, safely back at the Institute, I stood in the studio, caring only for solitude. Slowly, I walked over to the piano, sliding to my accustomed place on the stool that Rawhide had used to share with me. I set my hands on the keys and, an old habit, glanced beside me, looking for his cue. 

The tears streamed furiously down my face at last, and I called to mind all the curses I knew, muttering them bleakly in the soundproof room. In all the languages I knew I cursed Rawhide for his gentleness, for his care for me, for him taking our romance so slow that he had only kissed me a score of times in all the long, glorious months I had known him. We had had the whole world awaiting us, not knowing that our time together would abruptly run out. Then I cursed myself for being all kinds of fool, for being so hung up, so afraid and shy, that I could only timidly, slowly accept the love even of the gentlest man the world had ever known. 

My mind replayed the last time I had seen him, Buckaroo dispatching him to the labs to check on the Professor. He had walked down the corridor with that long, easy stride of his, turning at the door to give me a sympathetic grin as I copped a tirade from our exacting leader. Lifting the brim of his hat, green eyes shining, his engaging smile loving… I lost sight of him as he closed the door behind him. 

I have simply lost sight of him, I thought, finally feeling a little calmer. In the solitude, his peace flowed over me. I set my hands on the keys again, and glanced aside for his cue. 

Somehow, I could feel his large and gentle presence beside me, in his usual place a scant inch from me as he sat on the stool. “When you’re ready,” he’d say, looking into my eyes. 

I turned back to the keyboard and then paused to blow my nose, wipe the tears away. “OK, Rawhide,” I whispered. I played the song he’d loved, the sad one that had been Peggy’s favorite, too. And I played it beautifully, I played it with all the grief in my heart. 

There was a voice singing beside me, but I could not join in, for I was crying again. I played the music with all the skill that Rawhide had worked to bring out in me, and now was the first time he’d heard it. 

I finished, and turned to find myself in Buckaroo’s fierce embrace. For a while he sat there, letting me cry into his shoulder. And when I had quieted, and blown my nose again, he said, “We’re playing Artie’s Artery again on Saturday night. Why don’t you play in Rawhide’s place?” 

I sat there gaping at him. “You mean…?

“All you needed was the music. I’m offering you a residency. Will you accept?” 

His arm still around me, I looked away. To be accepted as a resident here was all that I’d dreamed of for years. For the last few months Rawhide had been teaching me to play the piano, so that I could make resident and truly live and work at his side. “It took his death to make me play as I needed to. He wasn’t teaching me to play all that time. He was teaching me to feel.” 

Buckaroo, who had been Rawhide’s best and closest friend – who had lost not only that but also his trusted second-in-command in one foul swoop – held onto me tightly. “He taught you well,” he said. “Now, play me ‘New York City Street Cop’s Beat’.” 

And he stood to find his guitar. Together we rehearsed a set of the Cavalier’s usual gig. I found to my surprise that not only could I play with all the feeling I’d never had before but that I could even sing harmony for him, once my tears had passed. It was a hot rehearsal. 

Some while later, Buckaroo sat beside me again and breathed a sigh of contentment. He leaned over and kissed me carefully, beautifully on the lips. “That’s from Rawhide,” he said. 

I looked around. “I can feel him here with us. He has not left us.” 

“Well,” Buckaroo retorted, “if he’s jealous, it serves him right. He seemed mighty keen to see Peggy again.” 

“Indeed.” I smiled a little at that, and then Buckaroo told me all that Rawhide had said as he was dying. “Did you – did someone hold him?” I asked. And Buckaroo said that he had, that Rawhide had died in his arms. “Then he died as content as he could have possibly been.” 

Buckaroo looked at me. “He loved you.” 

“I know,” I said proudly. “And I loved him, too.”

♦


End file.
